Vindicated Panic
by Maya Beebop
Summary: You can't fear what you can't see...
1. No Picnic

"Mr. Wayne, you're just too kind to allow my little Rebecca to stay here. I do hope she won't be too much trouble."

Bruce smiled amiably at Carlotta Richards, one of the few people he cared to entertain in his home. Carlotta was the widow of Marcus Richards, a man who sat in the Executive branch of Wayne Enterprises up until last year when he passed away from a lingering cancer. Mark and Bruce had been good friends in and outside of work. He did not let this friendship with the Richards' die when Marcus had.

"No trouble at all, Carla. I'm just sorry your sitter services dissolved. And how many times have I asked you to call me 'Bruce'?"

She grinned sheepishly. "I hate to let you do this, Bruce. But if you insist on watching her-…"

"I do. Now go on; a month-long business trip to Japan is no picnic for a ten-year-old, Carla. And if your mother checks in with us, I promise to assure her that Rebecca is in good hands. And if _she_ insists, I'll let her take Rebecca."

Carlotta nodded and thanked Bruce, and then went over to her daughter.

Rebecca Richards sat in the study, playfully amusing herself with a few books, which she was using to build a tower. When her mother came over, the girl forgot her project and turned to smile at Mrs. Richards.

"Now, you be a good girl for Mr. Wayne and Mr. Alfred, you hear? Mommy will call as often as she can. And if Grandma can, she'll watch you instead. So, give me a big hug and kiss!" Carlotta held her baby tight for a few moments, and then stood to go.

"Love you, mommy," Rebecca called.

"I love you, too, sweetie. Be good."

Alfred nodded to the rather emotional Mrs. Richards as she left. "We'll take exceptional care of her, Madame. After all, I helped raise Master Bruce from a boy, and look how wonderful _he_ turned out!"

"Helped, Alfred?" Bruce commented with a laugh. "You did it all, except the birthing part."

The three adults had a good chuckle and Carlotta went to the door, but gave last-minute instructions. "Her things are all in the two cases, and in the envelope I gave you is a check to cover any other needs. New clothes, in case hers should be ruined or unsuitable for any occasion, food, or whatever."

Bruce waved this off. "Please, Carlotta. You think I can't cover Rebecca's needs on my own?"

Mrs. Richards raised an eyebrow. "It wasn't meant as an insult. Just an offer."

"No offense taken, and thanks for the offer. But no. When I said we could take care of her, I meant we will _take care_ of her. Expenses and all."

"Thank you so much again, Mr. Wayne. I really do appreciate it. When Childcare Corps. Comes back into business, there will be Hell to pay."

"Just don't leave any bodies behind if you kill them."

The door closed and Alfred turned to his employer. "Well, sir, should I get the young lady settled? Perhaps one of the guest rooms?"

Bruce chuckled. "Just don't give her _my_ old room. It was too easy to escape from and Lord knows what piece of food could've been left under the bureau to evolve."

"I shall make sure she stays away from it," the butler grinned.

"Come along, Miss Rebecca," Alfred goaded, taking her by the hand. "We'll go pick out a room for you. By the way, what do you like to eat?"

As his butler led the girl away, Bruce heard her shy answer of "Anything with seafood, I guess, Mr. Alfred."

* * *

That evening, instead of dining in the huge, cold hall, Bruce had Alfred set up dinner in the kitchen, which was far more comfortable. The mean was an old-fashioned crab boil, meaning it was fun and homey to ease little Rebecca's qualms about staying there. It had been Alfred who had suggested it.

"So, Becks, how's summer vacation feel?" Bruce asked as they tore into the Maryland Blues.

Rebecca expertly pulled out a length of leg meat and powdered it with Old Bay seasoning. "Better than school," she giggled.

Alfred set down a bowl of melted butter and sat next to her. "I suppose summer tutoring wouldn't appeal to you?"

She stuck out her tongue in a childish fashion and play-retched. Bruce and Alfred laughed at this. "Come on, Alfred," Bruce responded. "No kid wants summer school."

"Just an idea, sir. Something to keep her busy while you attend to your…_duties_."

"What do you do, Mr. Wayne?" Rebecca asked. "If you don't run your company all day but you don't stay here…?"

"I…test out some of the products that Wayne Enterprises builds," Bruce answered cautiously with a smirk to Alfred. "And work on other projects." He pulled out a wad of meat, dipped it in the butter and swallowed it with relish.

"Mommy said you'd rather the fun stuff instead of the boring office work," Rebecca commented knowingly while picking out another crab.

Bruce grinned at this obvious outside judgement. "Well, it's true."

They finished up and Alfred checked the clock. "Goodness me, look at the time! Nine-thirty! I think it's almost bedtime."

The girl nodded. "Actually, bedtime was half an hour ago. I'm sorry; I should have told you, but I just forgot with all the food. Mommy did tell me not to leave stuff out, 'cause it'd be like I was lying."

Bruce's eyes widened. "I guess so."

"I saw your study when we came in. Can I ask a favor, Mr. Wayne? Can I borrow a book to read? I promise I'll be very careful and I'll put it right back when I'm done."

"Help yourself," Bruce replied, stunned. "If you don't, they're just collecting dust."

She smiled and hopped down from her chair. "I'll hurry," was all she said before rushing off.

The men watched her go and Bruce let out a sigh and shook his head. "What a basket-case. How long is she here for?"

"Just one month, sir. Thirty days."

"Let's hope those books will keep her busy. I don't have the first clue how to entertain a ten-year-old girl."

"Let's just be glad she isn't a teenager."

"Praise the Lord."

"Amen."


	2. Mask

Bruce's eyes snapped open and he let out a guttural moan. The bright sun made his eyes screw up in pain and the rest of his body followed, under the after-effects of a hard night of being Batman. A simple drug bust had gone bad when he realized that the criminals had a monster of a man on their side, a guy who could probably stack two phone books on top of one another and rip them in half simultaneously. He'd taken the Goliath out by shoving him into a tank of water after he dropped a severed electric cable into the liquid, but not soon enough to have prevented the huge bruises and possible fractures that now covered his body.

Slowly Bruce tested his limbs. Nothing was broken, but his right ankle was either sprained or he had one hell of a electric burn. And his arms, he saw, were an artistic swirl of blue, purple and black. It looked like he belonged in the surrealist section of the museum.

Groaning, he turned over and saw to his surprise that his digital clock blinked that it was only ten o'clock in the morning. What on earth had gotten him up at this ungodly hour? Usually he muttered his "bats are nocturnal" phrase and went back to sleep until one or two.

Now he was intrigued. Sitting up, he winced and hissed at the shooting pain in his ankle and dressed in a silk gown. Since he was alone in his room, he even indulged in his pair of fuzzy slippers that, if one looked closely, one would notice a few stray threads where a bunny head may or may have not been attached, but had been removed for sake of dignity.

The slippers, however, were comfy as hell and he loved them. Gave a sense of humor to his life, at any rate.

He plodded over to the curtains and opened them. Damn it all, some kid was down in his garden. Probably one of the help's children. He'd have to find out whose…

Suddenly he remembered that, for a month, that was technically _his_ kid. Rebecca…did kids wake up this early? He'd expect children to understand the comfort in sleeping in. But no, there she was, fully dressed and inspecting the bourganvilla.

He rubbed his eyes and moved to his closet, where he picked out a decent at-home outfit of khaki slacks, a dark green polo shirt and black dress shoes. When he was presentable, he slid the slippers under his bed again and went downstairs.

"Ah, Master Bruce, I was just getting Miss Richards' breakfast ready," Alfred greeted. "You're up early."

"Yeah, it's a new concept, this being awake in the late AM."

"Would you like something to eat? Drink? I recall from a while back that when you ate breakfast, you enjoyed waffles."

"Sure, Alfred. I could go for some waffles."

"I'll go inform the cook, then, sir. Ah, if you were wondering, our young lady chose 'Anthropophobia' by Edmund Wallace last night as her reading selection. I suppose she was intrigued by its comic-book-like qualities."

Bruce cocked an eyebrow and let out a nervous laugh. "She really is one-of-a-kind, isn't she? What did her mother get her into, I wonder?"

"Ah, sir, she's probably one of those progenies that develop after a major emotional change, such as the death of her father. That or the fact that she is enrolled in Master's Prep School for the Youth and is far more educated than the usual ten-year-old."

"I'll put my money on the first choice. So long as she doesn't start reading Freud, I don't mind what she looks at. Her mother would _kill_ me if I let her read 'The Interpretation of Dreams'."

Bruce moved into the study and looked over the shelf that "Anthropophobia" was stacked on. Among other titles were a lot of psychiatric selections. He felt uneasy about letting her look over this sort of deeper subject. He resolved to take her to a bookstore soon and let her pick out things more suited towards her age level.

Speak of the devil, there she was! Rebecca stood in the doorway, a few dead leaves in her hair and a big smile on her face. "Good morning, Mr. Wayne," she greeted. "Sleep well?"

"I'd ask the same of you. Why does this kind of stuff interest you?"

"Hmm?" She went over to see the book he was holding. "Oh, no real reason. I like the pictures. See? It's like a comic book."

He nodded and put it back on the shelf. "Alright. Let's go eat. Did you eat already?"

"Nope."

They went into the dining hall, where two places had already been set. A huge pile of waffles sat between them. Rebecca giggled with glee and sat in the chair to the right of the head of the table. Bruce eased into the latter.

"Now, I'm going out all today," he spoke while they tucked in. "So, just be careful and don't get lost. It's a big house."

"Okay."

After Bruce left, Rebecca wandered around, getting used to her new surroundings. Alfred knew well enough to let her explore, lest she get too curious and go looking for trouble. But no matter where she went, the little girl always came back to the study. She liked its warm lighting and walls of books; it seemed comforting in such a huge, cold house.

All too soon she realized that there was indeed a piano in the room. She had taken lessons when she was younger, so she began to pick out the tune of "Mary Had a Little Lamb".

Alfred heard the noise and came running, worried she might discover the secret of the three strange notes that opened the passageway to the caves below.

"Uh, Miss Richards!" he managed.

She turned with a smile. "Yes, Mr. Alfred?"

He came over and eased her off the seat, closing the lid. "Dear, don't think it rude, but…that piano is far too old and rickety to be played. We haven't polished it or tuned it in quite some time. If you'd like, you can go play the large one in the music hall. It's in much better shape."

She sighed. "Yes, alright then. It would be such a nice piano if it was cleaned up."

"Yes, it probably would. But it's mainly just for decoration right now."

He goaded her away from it coolly and left her at the baby grand piano in the music hall. She played a few simple tunes, but soon got bored and closed it up.

_This place is so cold…it's like no one lives here. It's like this is a big costume. A big mask over something else. Like that scary clown in the King-man's movie._

She wandered back to the study. There was a draft somewhere, like a door or a window was left open. The house was quiet, but suddenly she heard loud bells sound. The doorbell?

It didn't matter. Someone would get it. She played with the lid over the piano keys and pushed it back. What did an old, out-of-tune piano sound like, anyway? She was dying to know.

Suddenly she heard a short, stifled scream. Frightened, Rebecca turned around, using the keyboard as a brace. Her hands slammed down on an ear-splitting combination of four high keys.

Trembling, she watched two men in black barge into the room. One had a gun; the other held a short sword. When she tried to get away, she shook the piano and a huge decorative glass paperweight, which had been sitting on top of the piano, fell down and slammed onto the keys. The ivory cracked, and a _whooshing_ sound caught her attention.

Distracted, her eyes averted to the source of the sound, and amazingly she saw that part of the wall had moved away-…

Suddenly there was a flash of silver in front of her eyes and a searing pain in her face.

"No!" she heard a man demand as something sharp and painful poked her back. "We're not supposed to kill her. Leave her. We just gotta make sure she didn't have the disc."

"But sir-…" another voice spoke up.

"She didn't see anything. And now she never will, thanks to you."

Suddenly the men were gone, but Rebecca found that she could not open her eyes. In fact, as she reached up to touch her face and felt the warm blood pouring down her skin, she realized that she _had_ no eyes.

Whimpering like an animal, Rebecca started to cry, but the salty tears burned her cut. Without even realizing it, she was running through the house in search of _anyone_ who would help her.

The little girl ran into several walls before someone grabbed her arm. The phrase "Oh my God" was repeated several times by a deep English voice, and she recognized it almost immediately.

"Mr. Alfred! My Alfred, my face hurts! And I can't see…" she cried.

"Miss Richards, please, calm down! Please," he soothed, rubbing her hair and picking her up. She was aware that he was running with her, and the world suddenly smelled like freshly cut grass. They were outside.

"James, we must get to the hospital, immediately. Call Master Wayne. Tell him to meet us there. Let's go!" Mr. Alfred commanded while he slid her into a stuffy, leather-smelling space. A car.

They pulled out and as they drove she felt something soft and cool pressed against her eyes. It was a cloth of some sort.

"Just relax, Miss Richards. Calm down. We'll see a doctor right away. Just…hold on…"


	3. Anonymity

"Alfred, what the hell happened?" Bruce demanded as they stood in the ICU. Rebecca lay sleeping, heavily bandaged around the eyes, in a portable bed on the other side of the swinging doors. She moved uneasily in her anesthesia-induced sleep, but the brown-colored drip was still plugged into her arm and a nurse increased the flow to calm her.

"Frankly, I don't know, sir. Two intruders Mary let in. She opened the door, thinking they were deliverymen."

"And they just knocked her out? Why would they knock Mary out and wound Rebecca?"

"I don't know, sir. Maybe they meant to kill Miss Richards."

"But why?"

Suddenly, Bruce's cell-phone chirped. He pulled it out and answered. "What?" he demanded.

"Sir, my name is Stanley Daniels. I represent Carlotta Richards. I'm afraid I have urgent and tragic news."

"Go on," Bruce allowed, wary.

"The plane Mrs. Richards was on unfortunately crashed over the Pacific. No survivors. I'm told you are currently in custody of her only daughter, Rebecca?"

"Um, yes." He made eye contact with Alfred, who looked on with worry, wanting to know what had happened.

"We must ask you to keep her for a bit more time. We are unable to locate Carlotta's mother and don't know of any other family. Will you do us this favor?"

"Absolutely."

"Thank you."

He hung up and sighed deeply. "I'm thinking this wasn't just a pair of burglars, Alfred."

"Who was that?" the butler asked.

"Carlotta's dead. Rebecca's hurt. No other family. We have to keep her for now."

"Well, certainly, sir. But-…"

"They'll take her off our hands soon enough, Alfred. Until then, we have to watch her…and see if she gets through this."

**Six Years Later**

"How much for the whole lot?" An unshaven sailor thumbed a wad of bills and pulled off a few twenties. "A hundred's my last offer."

"Taken." A gloved hand tore the money from his dirty fingers and shoved a small bag of white powder into his palm. The owner of the gloved hand shoved the money into her pocket and turned away.

"You're a bit young to be dealin', don't you think?" the sailor asked, raising his eyebrow. "You run away or something? You know, there's plenty of room in the Narrows. I could give you a place to sleep," he grinned, showing off a few of his missing and rotted teeth.

The person turned toward him and pulled off the cracked pair of sunglasses she wore. Underneath was a pair of mutilated, white-scarred eyelids with a permanent halo of red around them. He gasped and took a step back as she snarled:

"I'd sooner sleep with one of Arkham's escaped than with you."

* * *

"Alfred, whatever happened to that girl?"

The butler looked over to his employer and tilted his head. "I'm sorry, Master Bruce. What did you say?"

"I asked what happened to that girl. What was her name? Riley? Regina?"

"Rebecca, sir? Rebecca Richards."

"Yeah. What happened to her?" Bruce Wayne stared out the window at his garden, now gone to seed. It was now overrun with wild vines and flowers. Nothing short of a machete and a weed-whacker could tear a distinguishable path through it. The excessive bourganvilla was what had jarred his memory about that little girl. Well, she wouldn't be little any more, would she? She would be fifteen or sixteen by now. Maybe seventeen. If she was still alive.

"Well, I haven't heard much about her lately. After the initial surge in the papers, the subject of Rebecca Richards has fallen into anonymity. I do recall the scandal of her mother being involved in a drug ring unbeknownst to her father. Your friend Marcus."

"Yeah. But what about the girl? Whatever happened to her?"

Alfred sighed. "I'd like to say that she was put up in a good home and was cared for a loved ever since. But no one knows, Master Bruce. After we gave her to the foster agency, she disappeared. Ran away when she was thirteen, I believe."

"What about her inheritance? Didn't anyone leave anything for her?"

"All taken by greedy affiliates and past debts her mother left. But why the sudden interest, sir? Why, after six years, have you sparked this curiosity?"

Bruce turned away from the garden and gave his friend a smirk. "No reason. Just wondering."

"Don't feel guilty, sir. The accident was terrible, yes. But the men responsible were found and punished."

"They were put up in Arkham on insanity charges. That's not punishment, Alfred. That's inconvenience. It's like back when Crane ran the place. They never caught _him_, did they?"

"No, sir."

The billionaire sighed. "No justice for the innocent."

"And no rest for the weary. Going out again tonight, Master Bruce?"

"Yeah. Let me go gun up the car."


	4. Capability

"Alright, babe. Take this sack down to the docks and give it to Sam Neilson, okay? He'll pay you three grand. You keep eight hundred and bring the rest back to me. Take two hundred to Big Brian over on Tenth Street, and four hundred to Vito Shakes in the Narrows. While you're there, take the small bag to Al Johnson over at Arkham. All right? You got all that? Remember to keep two hundred for yourself."

"Yeah. You want me to check in?"

"Nah. I trust you enough. At least, I'm sure you're not stupid enough to skip off with my dust or cash."

Liam Gunn laughed as his runner walked off, stuffing the bag of dope into a black backpack. Damned if that dame wasn't a piece of work. Shows up a few months ago and asks for work, and of course he gave it to her. He always needed another pair of hands. The Batman kept taking out his men, after all. It was getting harder and harder to run a smuggling business in Gotham.

He turned back to his other guys and had them unload large crates off the boat. It was gonna be a long night.

* * *

The huge, frightening façade of Arkham Asylum loomed over the densely populated Narrows like a monster. People scurried about under it, skittish and armed. While the police had caught most of the escapees over the years, several had disappeared into the shadows of the island, never to be found. No one was trusted. Anyone could be a madman.

The woman stepped off the train and found the feel of the hard metal gun in her pocket was comforting in this whirlwind of darkness and dampness. She had no idea of the colors of her surroundings, but the layout was cramped and creepy, and she hated this part of town. Not enough going on at once.

She made her way down alleys and streets that were steeped in the scent of cigarette smoke, sickness and rodents. Screams and shouts deafened her ears as she got closer and closer to Arkham to deliver her package to Johnson. Suddenly someone reached out and grabbed her shoulder.

With a screech, she whipped around, grabbed their wrist and twisted it around, cleanly snapping it and breaking it. The person screamed in pain and retreated.

"Dammit to hell, Gunn! Why the hell would you do that?" the man hissed.

She realized by the scruffy voice that it was Al. "Don't ever take me by surprise, Johnson. Especially in this pit you call your home."

"You better hope to God that heals right. Now let's get inside; it's gonna rain."

"I'm just here to deliver the stuff."

"And I wanna make sure it's pure, okay? You're not getting my cash until I test it. Jesus, Becks, your father's not gonna kill you if you're fifteen minutes late."

She raised her head at her name and growled. "Don't you ever call me that."

"So it's just your surname, is it? What do I care? Just get inside, or you get _nothing_ from me."

She followed him in and heard him clank the huge doors of Arkham closed against the now steadily falling rain. Uneasily, she fell into step behind him as they made their way into his office, which was upstairs on the second floor.

As he fell into his deep chair, she lingered near the door. She _hated_ this place more than anything. The screams and ranting of the inmates spooked her beyond anything else, because she couldn't see what kind of creatures could speak such horrible words.

"You know, after Crane was done running this place and went psycho, it was really hard to get pharmaceutical drugs in here. In fact, it was damn near impossible. Now that the cops have eased up, I can get them discount from your dad and they don't really care," Johnson explained.

"And you know, your dad needs me. Without me buying from him, the cops would realize he deals dangerous stuff, too."

"Just test it and let me go."

"Alright, alright. Sheesh, don't get so antsy. Don't like it here?" he laughed, pulling out a test tube, a jar of liquid and a syringe.

She listened to him dump a bit of the powder into the tube and add some of the liquid. He made little whispering comments about it turning the right color, except just a hue off.

"Becca, I'm gonna have to ask you a favor," he mentioned after a few moments. She raised her head in acknowledgement.

"What?"

"Well," he began as she stood up and paced the room. "I'm in a predicament. You see, I need to come up with a new way to calm the patients. Seems the after-effects of the hallucinogen that was released a few years back has messed a few of them up." He moved closer. "Know what I mean?"

"No." She was uncomfortable with his being so close. Slightly, she moved closer to the wall.

"Well, let me explain," he continued, resuming his pacing of the room. She breathed a bit easier. "You see, some of them were so delicate that the aerosol drug deepened their mental instability. Made them crazier. And me, running this joint, I'm responsible for keeping them under control. So I arranged to try out a new pacifying serum on some of them. It employs the essence of a flower that only grows in the Amazon. This flower has amazing calming effects, but unfortunately it only works if the person eats it.

"Now, the concentration of sedative is so great that the person can easily be controlled within a half-hour of its consumption. But the drawback is that it is so concentrated that it destroys their digestive tract, the body goes into arrest and they die soon afterwards. So it's been hard trying to find humans to test on. Liberals and Human-Rights Activists have been up my ass for months."

"What does this have to do with me?" she demanded. "I can't help you there. And neither can my father. You want to buy human lives, talk to some of the guys who hang around the old Industrial zone."

"Ah, well, you see, I can't be seen down there, and frankly, the people they deal with are unhealthy and weak. I need a subject that can take the new mixture I've come up with. See, I mix the powder with a stimulant, and while the stimulant is ultimately harmless, it is rather taxing on the body, particularly the ocular responses. I need someone who's…_capable_ of taking these hits without extensive damage. Someone who's already damaged enough where it won't make a difference."

Before she knew it, Becca Gunn felt something sharp jab into her arm. She cried out in pain as something cold spread out under her skin, and she moved away.

"Relax, Becca. It's all you _can_ do," Al soothed.

But she was far from relaxed. Wild, she spun on her heels and threw open the door. In a frenzy she descended the stairs and crashed through the front doors into the wet night, breathing heavily and clutching her arm.

But what was that shade she saw? Some wisp of unknown consciousness…and all of a sudden she realized she could see _color_! Swirls of pink and white danced in her head; it must have been the drug he'd given her. But the mix was so pretty!

She felt herself collapse in one of the innumerable alleys and her breathing evened. Her limbs stopped working and her brain became unnaturally clear. She was aware of everything around her, including the water that now seeped into her clothing, under the brown greatcoat and through the layers of thin skirts and single pair of pants. She shivered in it, but couldn't move out of apathy.

She only hoped that the person who was now kindheartedly dragging her inside and out of the rain wouldn't kill her.


	5. Presumption

"I'd like to file a missing person's report."

Liam Gunn stood in the foyer of the police station, leaning over the main desk and shivering from his sodden clothes. He was freezing, and the overused air conditioning in there wasn't helping. A few more minutes in the building and he'd develop hypothermia.

The secretary chewed a piece of gum and sighed. "Alright, sir, but in Gotham, if a person's missing they're most likely six feet underground."

"I'd like to file one anyway."

"Uh huh. Time gone missing?" she asked while bringing up the form on her computer.

"About a day ago."

"Physical description?"

"About five foot eleven, maybe six foot. She's got brown hair down to about here," he motioned with his hand to just below his shoulder blades. "Named Becca Gunn."

"What was she wearing at the time?"

"Ankle-length brown jacket, some dark skirts and I think a green T-shirt. Pair of black shades. Oh, yeah. Almost forgot; she's blind. She lost her eyes in…some accident."

"Alright, sir, we'll be on the lookout. Do you have a picture, and a phone number we can call in case we find her?"

He fished out a wallet-sized picture he carried for appearances and a cell-phone. "Yeah, here you go…"

* * *

The world around Becca Gunn was cool, but dry. Her head was swimming and some of her hair had fallen out of its tight french braid and had fallen over her face. She didn't feel her jacket on her anymore, but her skirts were still damp and clung to her legs. Her shirt was still wet as well. But her shades still sat on the bridge of her nose, dripping water down her face.

She swallowed hard and realized something was around her neck. Moving slightly, with a gasp she understood it to be a rope. _A noose_!

Becca bit her lip to keep from screaming. Now most of her position was clear; she was standing on solid ground – or what seemed to be solid ground – with her wrists bound in front of her. Probably one of the psychos had caught her while she was unconscious. Or worse, one of the guys who had a vendetta against her boss. Her "father".

She almost laughed about how easy it had been to convince the other guys that she was Liam's daughter. Muscle-boys, as a rule, were not generally smart. So the fact that Liam and Becca only shared the same height and he was a good twenty years older than her had fooled them easily.

Funny; it had also fooled everyone else who hated Liam Gunn. So she became collateral. And now it had really gotten her in deep trouble.

It sounded like no one was around. So maybe…if she turned just the right way, she could move her head out of the noose. Slowly, Becca moved her head and her feet at the same time.

No such luck. In fact, because of her movements, the "solid ground" beneath her feet wobbled and slowly collapsed beneath her. She felt the tightening noose around her throat and began to gasp for breath. But her body wasn't reacting like this involuntarily. She actually had to _think_ about it. She was having no panic reflexes, no muscle spasms or anything. Becca blamed the stuff Johnson pumped into her.

As she was slowly being asphyxiated, suddenly she felt two hands grab her ankles and hold her up. She still struggled and tried to speak, but all she was able to articulate was a series of strained whimpers.

"Shhh," someone soothed. "Stop twitching. If you hadn't moved, nothing would have happened. Couldn't you see that?"

She tried to get a lock on the voice, tried to recognize it. Suddenly her feet found purchase on a wobbly surface that supported her but still seemed very dangerous. If she moved too much, it would break; she was sure.

"Who are you?" she demanded. "Why did you tie me up?"

The voice chuckled and she was sure whoever it was had been smirking at her. "A young lady like you shouldn't be wandering around stoned in the Narrows."

"I wasn't stoned!" she snarled. "I'd been drugged."

"Really?"

"Yes, really!"

"Hmm." The person seemed to think this over, and Becca decided that the voice had to be male. There was a breaking point in his timbre and the words seemed guttural.

"Well, what did they put in you? I'm rather interested to know."

"Some kind of really potent sedative. Johnson's been working on it for awhile. Needed a guinea pig and didn't ask." She said this with a sneer, thinking about that rat Johnson and how bad she was gonna take him down…if she lived through this.

"Sedative? I'm not sure I understand. You're not one of Arkham's inmates, are you? Because if you _were_, I'd feel more camaraderie towards you and I might consider not killing your mind for falling asleep on my front doorstep."

She was confused. Well, confused only about the "killing her mind" part. Obviously this was one of the lost escaped from years ago. Didn't have all his ducks in a row.

"Listen, you don't have to kill me, or my mind, or whatever. If you just let me go-…"

"Oh, no chance of that. At least, not in your present state. See, _I've_ been looking for a 'guinea pig' of sorts myself. All my others have failed to survive the drug I've been developing. How kind of you to just stop by."

Becca tensed up. "Oh, come _on_!" she pleaded to whatever deity would listen. "Is this fair? I escape one maniac just to be rescued by _another_?"

"Don't compare me to Albert Johnson, miss. _Ever_. He's just a fool who could never properly fill my shoes, even if he _was_ hired to take my place."

She froze. "Oh…my…_god_. You're…you're Jonathan Crane? They said you were dead!"

"All that disappears is not dead, young lady. Well, except _you_ of course. In a city like Gotham, a teenager who goes missing is often assumed deceased or as good as it."

She sniffled, not because she was going to cry but because she was contracting a cold. Coughing, she realized the rope around her neck was now slack and she felt it being lifted over her head.

"Don't presume I'm letting you go," he commented, killing her hopes like Raid does ants. She felt his grip goading her into a darker, cooler area of whatever building they were in. Suddenly she felt him push her and she stumbled and fell into a cold room. Bruising her knees on what felt like cold tiles, she eased herself up enough to hear him chuckle.

"I'll see you in a bit. I have some errands to run before we begin."


	6. Second Impression

Batman swung down into Gordon's office to see what was happening in the wide world of Gotham City, specifically anything better than regular petty thievery.

"What's happening in Gotham tonight, Gordon?" he growled in the shadows behind the Lieutenant's desk. The man jumped and turned around.

"Oh, Lord! It's just you. You scare the living daylights out of me when you do that."

"Happy to please. Anything to report?"

"Not really," Gordon sighed. He leafed through some papers on his desk. "Some armed robberies without a shot being fired, one building burnt to the ground with no casualties, and one stolen and recovered Porsche. The city is slow today."

Batman inwardly groaned. He personally hated getting all dressed up for nothing. Nights like this exasperated him to no end.

"So there's _nothing_ on the map?" he demanded.

"Well, if you're gunning for something to do, take a look at the M.P.R.'s. Missing Person Reports. It'll keep you busy, at least."

"Hey, I'm not a lapdog, okay?"

"No offense meant. It's just something to do on a slow night."

Batman let out a sigh and picked up the thick file. On top were the five most recent reports than dated between that day and last week. He plucked these sheets from the manila folder and tucked them away. "I'll return these later," he assured Gordon.

"You can track down five people in all of Gotham in one night?" the man asked, astounded.

"It'll keep me busy, won't it?"

* * *

He crouched on the roof of an office building that stood forty stories in the air. Slowly he leafed through the five papers he'd taken. The first three were kids that looked like runaways; sullen teenaged boys who had probably already joined up with a gang and were rolling the streets in stolen motorcycles. The fourth was a middle-aged woman who he assumed was gorgeous enough to have just left her husband for the other man.

But the last was a teenaged girl who struck a weird chord. He couldn't profile her like the other four. She didn't look like she had any reason to be missing. "Becca Gunn," he read, scanning her details. "Six-foot, brown shoulder-length hair…_blind_…"

Suddenly something in his head clicked. Holy Hell, it was _her_! After all these years, suddenly he'd remembered her and then she turns up missing! It had to be that girl; she was the right age, basically the same name and everything, not to mention the disability.

Well, he might as well find her. Whoever she was living with obviously missed her enough to wonder where she was. That, and he wanted to see how she was doing since he last saw her…what was it? _Six_ years ago?

He ran a current through his "wings" and flew down to the lower levels of Gotham, planning to start his search around where whoever owned the cell phone's listed number lived.

* * *

"Wake up, miss. Time to eat so we can begin our project afterwards."

Becca's consciousness came back to her slowly. But all too soon she was aware of Dr. Crane sitting her up and pushing a piece of bread to her mouth. Clamping her teeth tight, Becca had resolved not to eat it when he spoke again.

"I suggest you eat. If you don't, your immune system will weaken and you stand a higher risk of not surviving the effects of my compound."

That said, Becca almost choked while trying to eat it as quickly as possible, lest he lose patience and continue without her being full.

"Please don't do this," she begged. In a situation like this, she wasn't at all above pleading for her safety. "Please, let me go!"

"Now, now," he chuckled in that voice that drove her mad with anger. He even went so far as to place a finger over her lips to quiet her. "Dignity, miss."

She hated feeling so vulnerable like this, like nothing she said or did would make any difference in the outcome. And the worst part was not being able to see him. He could look like anything, and that was what frightened her more than the impending experiments he was going to start doing on her.

_Wait…no. You saw his picture before. He used to be in a paper all the time…before you lost your sight._

She racked her brains for a memory. Suddenly, there he was, in black-and-white in her mind. A man of small stature but with an intimidating stare, even with his playful smirk in the picture. Rimmed glasses and wavy dark hair, slightly mussed from the breeze that had been blowing when they took the picture.

This guy had been a _wimp_! An educated but obviously lacking in the physical build lightweight.

And here she was, probably a good half-head taller than him, and she couldn't lift a finger to stop him! Wasn't that irony for you?

"Ah, but we don't have time to bicker," he commented coolly. "I have something for you to inhale. Now, do it fast and it won't have to hurt…_much_."

When she held her breath in defiance, he pinched her nose until she gasped for air. At the exact instant she opened her mouth, he blasted her with a cold spray that invaded her lungs like gaseous liquid nitrogen, freezing her inside.

Her mind went wild. Thoughts buzzed inside her head and she thought she would pass out. Maybe she did. Maybe she already had. But slowly, her mind cleared. She realized her wrists hurt very much and they were even bleeding a bit.

"Feeling light-headed?" a cruel voice demanded. "Tell me; I'm simply _dying_ to know the symptoms."

Becca suddenly felt that her hands were free. In some spasm she didn't quite remember, she must have torn the rope apart. With all the speed she could muster, she threw her hands up and tried to push him away.

But what was this she felt? Rough canvas and frayed string covering his face! She pulled back in disgust and made a sick sound. "What the hell is on your face?" she spat, too surprised to be scared.

He made a confused sound and she heard the rushing of fabric. Suddenly his breath was hot on her skin and she tried to get him away by smacking him. Her hand connected with bare flesh now and the resounding "crack" echoed in the tiled room.

"Ow! Damn it!" he cursed, withdrawing.

She sat, stunned, trying to figure it all out while he mused angrily.

"I don't understand it. The sedative he gave you _must_ have worn off by now. And I gave you a huge dose of the toxin. Why aren't you showing the simple signs of animal fear?"

As he muttered, slowly she began moving along the floor to her right, to perhaps get around him and make for the exit. Just as he noticed and exclaimed, "Stay where you are!" she made her move.

"Get away from me, you costumed freak!" she snarled, scrambling to her feet. She tried to run by him towards where she expected the door was, but just as she passed him she felt his hand grab her ankle and trip her, sending her to the floor face-first. Luckily she caught herself with her palms against the tile, but another "snap" was heard and she realized her sunglasses had fallen off and were now cleanly shattered all over the floor under her left hand. Some shards were embedded in her skin and she winced.

With a wail of despair, she barely noticed his yanking her backwards and further into the cell. She clawed for the broken pieces and turned onto her back to use them as weapons.

Even as they fell apart in her hands as she tried to cut his arms with them, Becca heard his surprised gasp and that insufferable chuckle.

"Well. I wouldn't have guessed unless I saw it myself. The bridge of the shades hid that neat slice between your eyes nicely. And, of course, the lenses completely covered the rest. It's a neat trick."

"Shut up," she hissed.

He stood and moved towards the door. "Well, _now_ I see why it didn't work. After all, you can't fear what you can't see." And with that, he swung the heavy door closed on her and left her alone in the cold tile room.


	7. Truth

"Gunn."

The deep, menacing voice startled Liam like not much else in the world. With terror, the man spun on his heels to come face-to-face with the Batman.

"Shit…"

"Spare me," he growled. "I'm not here about the shady smuggling you do. I'm looking for Rebecca and want to know what the hell you have to do with her."

Liam almost lost control of his bowels. "What do you mean? The girl works for me."

"That's all?"

"…And I sorta use her for appearances."

"Such as?"

"She's sort of an adopted daughter."

The Batman laughed in his throat. "You're joking."

"I swear to God I'm not!"

Suddenly the masked figure grabbed the front of Liam's shirt and lifted him three inches off the ground. "So why would she go missing? It wouldn't happen to be because of a trade-off gone wrong? You'd use her as your runner so she'd be in danger instead of _your_ worthless neck?"

"No! I swear! She _wants_ to do the runs, so I let her and pay her damn well. I kinda pity the girl, you know. Being blind and so young and all…reminds me of my sister before she died."

"_You_ pity _her_?" he raged. "What, did you kidnap her from that orphanage, hoping for a ransom?"

"You got it all wrong. She came to me, alright? Wanders up out of nowhere 'bout four or five months ago and asked for work. Me needing people I can trust, I took her in! She was freezing and starving to death, for God's sake! Anyone would have done it!"

"Anyone but you. What's your angle?"

"Jesus, you think I've got some vendetta against the girl?"

"All I know is her mother was involved in a drug ring, happened to die and hadn't paid up all her debts. Maybe you met Miss Richards and decided to get some indentured servant's work out of her."

"Holy hell, man! I'm tellin' you the _truth_! All she wanted was work for a dry place to sleep and some food, for chrissakes!"

The Batman seemed to consider this, and slowly let Liam down. "So if what you said _was_ true, then why is she missing?"

"I don't _know_. It's why I filed a report with the cops."

"Where was the last place anyone saw her?"

Liam decided this guy might actually be able to help him, so he decided to share the small amount of information he knew. "I talked to Al Johnson over at Arkham. He said she checked in with him, got paid and left. Last he saw, she was heading back to the train over in the Narrows."

"He didn't actually see her get on?"

"Guess not. But she carries a small gun on her all the time. She can take care of herself."

"Why was she over at Arkham?"

"Well…Johnson needed some special powder for something he's been working on for the crazies. She took it to him."

"And you believed him?"

Liam was stupefied. "I got no reason not to."

"Rule number one: in a city like Gotham, never trust _anyone_."

Liam heard someone coming from behind him and spun around to see who it was. When he realized it was just some of his men on a snack break walking halfway down the alley, he sighed and turned back only to find that the Batman was gone.

* * *

Batman swooped down over Arkham Asylum to the symphony of hellish shrieks and incoherent babbling. He swung himself in a shadowed window and made his way through the hallways, disgustedly taking notice of the men he intended on serving time in prison who luckily got transferred here. 

Suddenly an office appeared in front of him and he realized someone was within, talking on the phone.

"No, I told you before, Gunn. Your girl came here, got the cash and left, alright? Just 'cause she's missing, it doesn't mean I got anything to do with it. Now stop calling me, or I'll find someone else to bring my stuff in!" Whoever had been speaking slammed the receiver down on the base and groaned disgustedly. Then he began mumbling to himself.

"Damn it, if she hadn't just run off, no one would be up my ass. That little blind bitch is more trouble than she's worth…"

The man half-opened the door to leave, but Batman kicked it open, throwing him back against the desk and causing him to push half his office articles off the tabletop.

"What the hell?" he cursed.

Batman grabbed his throat and menacingly squeezed. "What do you know about Rebecca Richards?"

The man gasped and tried to claw his way out of the grip to no avail. "I don't know what you're talking about! Who the hell is this Richards girl? Did Gunn hire you to stalk me or something?"

"Lying isn't something I've got a lot of patience for. The girl Gunn is looking for. What do you know?" he growled, tightening his grip for an instant.

The middle-aged man wheezed and his eyes rolled back in his head with the lust for air. "Alright! Alright, lemme go! Don't kill me!"

The masked man relaxed his hold just a bit while the other man sang like a canary.

"I stuck her, ok? Gave her some of the sedative and she ran off. I swear; the last I saw of her she was tripping off into the worse part of the Narrows. She's probably sleeping it off on a curb somewhere!"

With a newfound fury for this abuse of the little girl he owed so much to on account of her father, Batman bared his teeth and tried to fight back the urge to strangle this sorry excuse for a human being. Instead, he launched the man halfway across the room, where he slammed into a bookcase which deposited all its heavy volumes on his body as it fell on top of him.

Long before he got up, Batman made sure he was gone.

* * *

Becca wasn't sure if she was awake or not. God knew, her head was reeling and she was getting vertigo where she sat, huddled in a corner of the cold, tiled room. She had removed most of her sodden clothes and now wore naught but a half-dry brown tank top and a ragged, long black skirt. The rest of her articles were in a wet heap nearby, and her brown jacket was draped over her freezing body like a blanket. 

She groped around to tug the coat closer, and suddenly felt something hard. With a leap of joy rising in her throat, she realized the small handgun was still hidden away in her jacket pocket! With any luck, she could hide it long enough to be able to use it eventually. Sliding it out of the coat, Becca placed it in the belt circling her waist and covered it with her shirt.

Suddenly she heard the ominous clicking of the door's lock. The metal door swung open with a creak and she heard someone enter. Whoever it was had a soft step, moving around the room before coming close. She heard her pile of clothed be picked up and the _drip-drip_ of excess water echoed against the tiles.

"Hey!" she demanded. "Put those back!"

But whoever it was rushed for the door. Becca scrambled in their direction, hoping to catch them and get her clothes back. But they made it through the doorway before her and slammed it in her face. She nearly lost her fingers as the heavy slab of metal crashed into place.

"No!" she cried, furious. "No, no, no! Bring those back! They're _mine_!" She pounded on the door, trying with no effect to get a reaction out of anyone who would listen. But apparently no one did, because the room slowly became silent and she realized nothing would come out of her attacking a door that didn't feel her blows.

Sinking back to the floor, she reached for her coat and pulled it over her as she leaned against the door, content that if anyone wanted to sneak in, she'd feel it before they got inside.


End file.
